Whether you work outside the home dressed like a human for a paycheck or inside the home wearing the same sweats outfit you wore yesterday enslaved by doughy munchkins who look like you, you are a mom who works. Moms work their asses off. If only the fat would then come off their asses, then it might come close to an even trade. The paycheck moms come home at night to exchange their human clothes for sweats and then do a doubleshift of "inside the home" work. What is "inside the home" work you might ask? Well let me tell you because my brain loves to catalogue it as I'm doing it. Sometimes I like to do inside the home work while uttering a litany of "fucks", "shits", and "I went to college for this?!" My outrage seems to correlate to the amount of idealization (is that the right word) I had as a 20 year old who thought I was going to be the next Connie Chung (you know, Maury's wife). I just pictured myself in a suit writing important meeting/work/professional executive stuff in a giant red date book (Franklin Covey) and then talking into a giant football sized cell phone. I never pictured myself pulling gumball sized poo out of my constipated child's ass or wiping the floor for the 5th time in one day of gooey rice bits, dried playdough and melting chocolate. I didn't think I could fold a mountain of giant and little boxer briefs while making sure my pasta doesn't boil over and coax my 8 year old from under her bed so she could do her homework. It all ends up at the doorstep of chardonnay but I digress.
You see inside the home work never ends. It's like a giant endless pit. Take picking up around the house. Well, I pick up a lot of kids' toys and hurl them into the kids' rooms. I don't actually put them away in a drawer but throw them into their rightful quadrant of the house. If I'm particularly energized by a run (endorphins make you do the craziest things), a giant vat of coffee (ditto) or a claritin (hello allergy season), I will actually pick up my children's rooms. This requires the patience of an archaeologist or someone who works in the Library of Congress. You see, my daughter loves legos. These are not toys but small plastic shards that must be catalogued and stored or the worst will occur: the original lego that you paid more than 50 dollars for can never be constructed again. Giant Millenium Falcon? Nope not anymore - without that one crucial grey piece - now it's a just a pile of non recyclable plastic bits. Is that a 1 inch twig brought in on the bottom of your child's shoe? NO! It is Harry Potter's Quidditch stick - put it away carefully or your daughter will explode in hysterics or worse beat the shit out of her brother because she will think that he took it. Poor guy. He probably did but on this one day you accidentally threw it out or sucked it up in the vacuum - the natural enemy of the lego. Is that a dead fly? No. It is Darth Vader's trademark helmet/head/skull thingey How can you play Star Wars without that. You are screwed and you are a lazy no good mother who wastes her money on these plastic bits that will get lost. You should have bought more natural wooden toys or even done away with toys altogether and made your kids construct treasures from trash - use their imaginations and create cool things from your recycling bin. Did I tell you mothers' tend to obsess?
